


Paper Cut

by badomens444, Suspicious_Popsicle



Series: The Paper Stack [2]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badomens444/pseuds/badomens444, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle





	Paper Cut

Authors' Notes: We've tried to add more trappings from the 1920's setting, and we're really looking forward to working more on this set. It requires quite a bit of research, but I think it's worth it. Falis is a reference to the Record of Loddoss War OAVs.

Bad0mens: I have been awful about getting these posted up on AO3. I'm sorry.

Tales of Vesperia is the property of Namco Bandai.

* * *

 

Paper Cut

It surprised Flynn how quickly he had gotten comfortable visiting with Yuri. Even the fact that he was able to think of it as a visit as much as work was odd. He didn’t normally make friends very quickly, but even though Yuri had his quirks and the two of them got into spats as often as they had friendly discussions, there was something about the man that he just couldn’t help but like. Maybe it was the way he spent his life pursuing his interests and passions rather than taking the smarter, more secure path of gainful employment. Maybe it was because underneath his mock-flirting and sarcasm he was actually a pretty serious guy with a big heart in the right place. Maybe it was simply because he was damnably attractive and seemed to delight in hinting that he thought the same about Flynn. Whatever the reason, his once or twice weekly visits to the old apartment building where Yuri lived had become something to look forward to.

That day, Flynn was running a little bit late. Yuri’s landlady had caught him on his way up, and there was no getting out of a chat with the formidable Mrs. Bluberidge once she had set her sights on you. He’d only managed to break away when the building’s single phone rang, and she was called to duty as the secretary for the half dozen or so residents. Smiling, he remembered the first time he had called. When she’d answered the phone, Flynn had nearly hung up just on principle. The thought of modeling in the nude had been bad enough, but the idea of doing so for a woman felt inexcusably improper. He’d been saved that awkwardness when she called for Yuri, and a burst of short-lived relief had been enough to get him through the conversation about setting up an appointment.

He was certainly glad he hadn’t backed out.

When he reached Yuri’s apartment, he let himself in. Yuri never locked his door, and would be expecting him. Though it had become customary over the past two months for them to have dinner together on the nights he came to model, it was unusual to be immediately met with the smell of cooking food. His stomach growled its approval louder than the squeaking hinges as he closed the door behind him.

“There’s Mr. Formerly Punctual.” Yuri greeted him from the table where he was apparently enjoying a bowl of stew for dinner. “I was getting worried. Was just about to send out a search party.” Slurping down a mouthful, he grinned around his spoon then used it to point to the kitchen. “Dinner’s on the stove. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and pulled loose his tie. Both were hung on Yuri’s wobbly old coat rack, usually home only to a single black fedora. Repede was stretched out on the couch, and Flynn gave him a quick scratch behind the ears before neatly rolling up his sleeves. Undoing the top button of his shirt as he crossed to the kitchen, he eyed Yuri sideways as he passed.

Usually, Yuri wore smudged or stained button downs, halfway done up if at all, sleeves rolled up to his elbows but still black with patches of charcoal pencil. That day, he had dispensed with the button down altogether and lounged in a tight undershirt, gray with age. A pair of black suspenders were clipped to his loose pants, and Flynn wondered if—when Yuri began flirting that evening—grabbing him by those straps and yanking him close would shock him into silence or only encourage him. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be bold enough to try it and find out, despite his imagination painting either scenario as something he would very much like to see.

Dinner flew by beneath a debate about prohibition. Though neither of them brought up any of the local cases that Flynn might have been called to deal with during his internship, there were enough incidents nationwide to give both of them arguing points in their favor. Yuri smirked his way through the whole thing, though he was probably taking the discussion seriously. It was a little annoying to see him be so flippant, as if he was convinced he was right and was only amused at any argument Flynn might make, but they’d gotten into rows before over less, and Flynn did not want to have to explain a black eye to his boss again.

Their talk was cut short once their bowls were empty, and Yuri ushered Flynn out of his clothes and into position with more haste than usual. He still loaded his messy bun with replacement pencils, still made sketch after sketch, reproducing Flynn on paper with remarkable speed and focus. He didn't so much as bat an eye when the train that ran right past his apartment came roaring by, rattling anything not nailed down and making an unholy racket. As the time ticked by, however, his eyes began darting more and more often to the clock, and he closed up his sketchbook precisely an hour after they had begun.

“That’s it for today.” He clapped Flynn on the shoulder as he passed by on his way to the chest of drawers that housed his tiny wardrobe. “Money’s on the desk. See you next week.”

A little surprised, Flynn hurried to get back into his pants. Being comfortable around Yuri was one thing, being naked without the excuse of modeling was quite another. About to ask why Yuri was in such a hurry that night, the question died on his lips as he turned around to see him stripped to his underwear, combing his fingers through his messy hair.

He’d known from glimpses and fights that Yuri kept himself up, but he’d never been given a good look at the lean body usually hidden beneath rumpled, charcoal-stained clothes. Flynn’s mouth went dry as he traced with his eyes the curve of strong calves and toned thighs, the shift of the well-defined muscles of abdomen and chest. He felt absolutely cheated when Yuri pulled on a pair of black pinstripe pants and a clean undershirt.

“What’s got you in such a rush this evening?” he asked, turning away to finish getting dressed himself. He was more proud than he should have been over the fact that his voice sounded perfectly normal.

“Going out to meet some friends tonight.” There was a pause, then: “You want to tag along?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” He finished buttoning up his shirt and pulled his tie off the coat rack. Curiosity prompted him to ask: “Where are you going?”

“Jazz club downtown.”

When Yuri’s hand passed by his ear, reaching over his shoulder for the fedora, Flynn turned, helplessly following the movement as Yuri pulled his arm back and settled the hat over his hair, tilting it just so.

“You should come along. Be good for you to cut loose.”

He looked…/ _really/_ good. The pinstripe suit he wore had to be the nicest set of clothes he owned based on what Flynn had seen, and he wore it well over a spotless white shirt and burgundy vest. With bright eyes and a wide, eager grin to cap it all off, there really was no way Flynn could have refused the invitation. He couldn’t hold back a smile of his own as he pulled his jacket off the rack and slipped it on.

“Sure.”

“Great.” Yuri grabbed his sketchbook and a few pencils and they were off.

* * *

 

At night, downtown Zaphias was like a completely different city. Jazz music poured from every seedy club the way the liquor used to. Crime was rife and the police had little power to stop it.

The vertical neon sign above them read 'The Sands of Kogorh' in blue lettering, and its pink border was decorated with a palm tree. The outside of the club looked much the same as any other, aside from the potted palms that dotted the sidewalk around the entrance, wreathed with cheap white holiday lights. Red velvet ropes and a worn out, scraggly carpet led them through a beaded curtain that covered the open doorway.

The interior of the club was almost louder than the city outside, and hazy with smoke and chatter. The walls were painted with desert scenery, endless golden dunes and blue sky, interrupted by the occasional pyramid, palm tree, or oasis. Alcoves fitted with booths for people enjoying private parties were separated from the rest of the club with layers of sheer fabric and cheaply constructed stucco lotus columns. Free standing tables around the wooden dance floor were topped with miniature pyramids and lotus flowers. Overall, it was the cheesiest theme set up he could have ever imagined. The wait staff wasn't much better.

They were almost immediately approached by a young woman in a white dress wrapped tightly around her form, with a heavy, beaded collar and black bob haircut done in tiny braids that also ended in beads. She smiled brightly and looped an arm around Yuri's in a gesture of incredible familiarity. What surprised Flynn most was that Yuri let her.

“Yuri, I'm so glad you could make it!”

“I hope you don't mind I brought this stiff along.” Yuri motioned in Flynn's direction with his thumb and a grin.

“Not at all.” The girl extended her hand to him. “Hello. I'm Estelle.”

“My name is Flynn Scifo. It's a pleasure to meet you.” They shook on it.

“Rita's waiting at the booth. We've got a really good spot for you this time.”

“Sounds great,” Yuri said.

The two of them followed Estelle through the smoky atmosphere to a rounded booth in the very back corner that allowed them to see the whole of the rest of the club. Yuri held back the filmy drapes while Flynn and Estelle climbed in beside a girl that was dressed in a similar costume. They stumbled over uselessly ornate silk cushions with beaded fringe just to get a seat.

“What took you so long?” the girl asked, side-eying Yuri. “And who's this?”

“Flynn, meet Rita. Rita, Flynn. He's a friend of mine.”

It was almost a throwaway line, but coming from Yuri, it felt like something more. It was like the growing familiarity of their visits was not lost on him either. “Nice to meet you, Ms.--”

“Don't bother with it. Rita is fine.”

When Flynn turned back, Yuri was at the edge of the table, sketchbook open and pencil in hand. He peered around an approaching waitress to get a better look at the other patrons who were either dancing or mingling.

“Is that okay? I think it's an invasion of privacy to record people like that,” Flynn said.

“It's fine. All the regulars know me and they don't have problem with it,” Yuri replied. “What? Are you jealous that I draw people aside from you?”

Flynn flushed, but further argument was interrupted by the costumed waitress.

“What can I get you?” she asked, standing to one side and apparently out of Yuri's line of sight, because his sketching didn't stop.

“Coke, with a couple of maraschinos.” Yuri didn't look up.

“Pineapple juice,” Rita said.

“I'd like a root beer float. With two straws please.” What Estelle was going to do with two straws was something that Flynn couldn't figure out. Between her and Yuri's sugary drink requests, he felt like he was at the club with a couple of children. She and Rita really didn't even look old enough to be there.

“And for you, sir?”

“Just a tomato juice.”

“I'll bring those out in just a moment.” She bustled off, leaving them to chat.

“So what do you do for a living, Flynn?” Estelle asked, propping elbows up on the table and lifting off the cushions a little to get a better look at him.

“I'm in graduate school right now, but I'm also interning.”

“Oh! Where do you go to school and what are you studying? Rita's in grad school, too.”

“D-Don't go bragging about me to people!” Rita's face went a shade pinker and she fidgeted with the beaded ends of her hair.

“I'm studying law at St. Falis College.”

“Ugh!” Rita huffed and pulled her hair off of her head, revealing it to be nothing more than a wig. The brown hair that had been hidden underneath was even shorter and choppier. “Sorry, Estelle, but it's getting too hot to keep that thing on.”

“Oh, I thought I was the only one. I'm sorry that you had to suffer with that wig on.” Estelle pulled hers off as well, and shook loose her bob of shocking pink hair.

“N-No. It's fine. I wore it because I wanted to.”

With her hair uncovered, Flynn recognized Estelle. It was hard not to purely because of the color, but before he could ask about what the mayor's daughter was doing in a bar like The Sands of Kogorh, their drinks arrived.

Yuri finally put down his sketchbook after having filled several more pages, and stuck his pencil behind his ear. He took a sip of his drink and, using his tongue, fished one of the bright red cherries out of the dark soda. He sucked it into this mouth, stopping at the start of the stem, and bit the fruit free. Stem still between his lips where Flynn so commonly noticed a pencil or a quill pen, Yuri took another sip of his drink.

Flynn caught himself staring a little too late as Yuri turned to him with a smirk.

“Wanna see a trick?”

He fumbled for an answer, but Yuri was apparently going to show him one way or another. He pulled the stem into his mouth, and Flynn could see the slight movements of his jaw and his tongue prodding against the inside of his cheeks. A second later, Yuri displayed the very tip of his reddened tongue where the cherry stem sat, tied in a neat knot.

Flynn's own mouth dropped open a little, agape with the question that if Yuri's tongue was capable of such deftness, what else could it do? Yuri didn't hesitate turning on his flirting.

“I'm a man of /many/ talents.” The smirk he paired with his words was entirely inappropriate and did funny things to Flynn's stomach.

“Oh, Yuri, that's so nifty! I wish you could teach me how to do that.”

“E-Estelle!” Rita stuttered, nearly spitting out her juice from the surprise of it. It seemed as though she understood what saying a thing like that meant. After all, learning to use a tongue like that was something that would require some hands on practice, or really perhaps mouth-on-mouth--

The heat filling up Flynn's face quickly squashed where his brain was going with that train of thought, but it immediately brought up another one. Another one that made him far more hot and uncomfortable.

Yuri drank down the last of his Coke in time for the waitress to return and offer to bring him another. Suddenly, he slapped his sketchbook against Flynn's shoulder, and scooted out of the booth with a smirk. “Hold this. I'll be right back.”

It took a moment for Flynn to realize where Yuri was going as he fumbled to get the book onto the table. He was heading straight to the stage just beyond the dance floor where the current jazz quartet was just finishing up a set. Yuri hopped up with them, snatching his Coke from their waitress as she passed. Quickly, he said something which seemed to get the band smiling, and he grabbed the microphone stand. Unsure if Yuri was acting due to a sugar rush, Flynn started to pull himself out of the booth in order to stop him from making a fool of himself. The sound that came out of Yuri's mouth only surprised him further, however, and not in a bad way.

He wasn't even trying to keep in tune, but his voice was more melodic than Flynn expected, and his tone playful as he strutted around on the stage, sloshing his soda around until Flynn thought the stage must have been covered in the sugary drink. Yuri was having fun with it, and the band behind him, too. Even the majority of the crowd seemed to be cheering him on. It was a playful side of Yuri that he hadn't seen before and he found himself caught enjoying the swing of it.

A quarter of an hour and a half-wasted Coke later, Yuri returned to the table, chuckling and breathless, and tossed back the last drops of his drink before slapping his empty glass down. He didn't sit like Flynn had expected. Instead, he grabbed Estelle by the hand and pulled her out on to the dance floor. She took to it well without a hint of surprise as she and Yuri began dancing.

His movements on the dance floor were about as refined as his singing, which was to say not very refined at all, but Flynn couldn't help but admire Yuri's laughing attempts at the popular jazz dances of the day. Estelle was much better at them, probably due to practice if she hung out often in clubs like this one, and she seemed to lead the way. He wasn't a bad dancer though, and the two of them seemed to be having an awful lot of fun cutting a rug.

Flynn couldn't escape the sinking feeling in his stomach. It was warm like anger, but felt different. He should have been curious about the contents of the sketchbook beneath his fingers, the charcoal and graphite perception of how Yuri saw people, of how he saw the world, but instead he was fixed on the dance floor. He couldn't take his eyes off of Yuri and Estelle, dancing there together and having a grand time, and for the life of him, he didn't know why that bothered him so much.

“Flynn, you tired or something?” Yuri slid back into the booth, sagging against the cushions.

“What?”

“Look, if you were ready to go, you shoulda just said something.” He didn't give Flynn a chance to respond before calling to Estelle who was coming back from the dance floor. “Hey, we're gonna get going. I need to get Sleeping Beauty here home before he decides to take a nap on the sidewalk.”

“Okay, Yuri! Have a good night. It was nice to meet you, Flynn.” Estelle returned and pulled Rita out of the booth. Watching them, Flynn realized suddenly that the second straw in the root beer float had been for the brunette. “Come dance with me, Rita. It'll be fun.”

“E-Estelle, I'm really not-- oh, fine!”

“Good night, you two!” Yuri yelled after them over the music, and dragged Flynn out of the club.

They took to the streets back toward Yuri's apartment, a silence hanging between them that was only interrupted by a few yawns from Yuri, and Flynn's body reacting reflexively in kind. The sting was still there, and it was nagging at him.

“You have fun?” Yuri asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, and tried to keep the conversation moving to distract himself from that feeling. “I didn't know you could sing.”

“I play piano, too.”

“Pull the other one.”

“No lie. I’ll play for you, sometime.”

Yuri’s eyes shone invitingly beneath the streetlights and, suddenly, the memory of him dancing with Estelle didn’t cut quite so sharply.

 

  
  



End file.
